


Glory

by ivyspinners



Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Goldenlake SMACKDOWN, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 03:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11371920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivyspinners/pseuds/ivyspinners
Summary: The last hour of the Circle's lives, and beyond, in reverse chronological order.





	1. End

There was a rushing river, and the far bank was shrouded by mists thick enough to hide something as large as the limitless city he had somehow escaped, if such a city, indeed, stood on the other side.

Briar was not a stranger to this place in between. He was not familiar with it, precisely; his visits totaled exactly one, and his distantly-remembered previous journey had ended in an overgrown garden in the city he'd left behind. It was, however, better than your normal human facing death for the first time.

"Thief-Boy."

Tension that he hadn't noticed in his shoulder dissipated.

Briar turned, barely noticing that, here, his body was young, or that his limbs were whole. He was too busy noticing that about Daja, Sandry, and Tris.

They were lounging by the side of the river, around a rock as tall as Daja, who leaned absently against it. Tris was perched on top, legs crossed, and eyes slowly coming back to focus as she over her spectacles at him. Sandry sat beside Daja, plucking bits of hay and smiling at the warm sunlight on her face - funny, how he hadn't noticed the sun until then. Funny, too, that he was not remotely surprised his foster-siblings were the ones who sat there, rather than his wife or even his children.

"What took you so long?" Sandry asked. "We've been waiting for ages."

Briar scoffed. "'Scuse me for getting lost in the-" Unsure what to call the labyrinth of houses, which had seemed to him, while wandering its paths, as large as any continent, he merely gestured behind him. "Its pathways."

"We found our way easily," Tris pointed out, "and we all entered the city at the same time."

Daja merely sighed, and nudged Sandry, also drawing Tris's attention. "Isn't it enough that he made it?"

Sandry shook her head with mocking sadness. "Just like a boy," she teased. "Always taking forever, making us girls wait."

Tris hopped down from the rock, staggering a bit. She was not graceful, not athletic, and seemed perfectly comfortable with the hand Sandry rose quickly to give her. "But now that you're here..."

Briar turned back to the river. A bridge stretched towards the far bank, disappearing into the billowing mists.

"Ready?" Sandry said, lifting her stubborn chin to meet his eyes squarely.

"Yeah."

And one by one, they walked over the bridge.


	2. City of Ghosts

Sandry did not know how long she walked the city, if such a concept applied in a place where buildings of empires lost to memory and eras yet to come squatted side by side, sharing a shade of gray with the sky. In them, beside them, transparent figures moved, jerkily, as though she was only seeing a series of images transposed one on top of another. The sounds they made seemed to come from far away, mingling with flickering, multicolored wisps.

Distance, perhaps, was a better term with which to define her journey, but by the time she thought of it, what felt like hundreds of miles had passed beneath her feet.

She wondered, fleetingly, where the others were, in this place beyond life. They had to be here; only death could make her connections to Daja's serenity and Tris's dry wit and Briar's wildness disappear into thin air.

An impossible number of years and an impossible distance passed before Sandry reached the edge of the sprawl of buildings so tall they scraped the sky, so low they were level with the fishponds decorating her garden at the Citadel. One moment she was still lost in the maze she had presumed endless, passing knotted vines and copper wind chimes; the next, she had stepped into open air, the roaring of an ancient river slapping her with its sheer presence.

"Saati."

"Sandry!"

She gaped, and for the first time since arriving in the city for the dead, she could see the sun and feel wind.


	3. Gray Light

The maelstrom of fire around her vanished, and earth slammed had into her body.

As she woke back to sensation, Sandry became aware of the strangest fact: she lay spreadeagled with her check squashed against the ground, as though she had fallen from a great height, but she was not in pain.

It took less effort than it ought to have to sit up, then stand. Groaning softly, Sandry rubbed the dirt off her cheeks, smearing it on her palms and face in the process. As she looked around, her motions slowed, and then stopped entirely; any questions she harbored about where, exactly, she was, and what had happened faded away.

Sandry had, once upon a time, a long, long time ago, fought to keep Briar and Rosethorn from taking up permanent residence in this place. She recognized it by the gray light, clear and sharp although she could see no source for it; and the colorless, faded surroundings. Unlike Briar, who had clutched Essence of Rosethorn, she held nothing, and there were no splashes of violet to guide her. Even her connections to her Tris and Daja and Briar had gone; the three minds connected to hers disappearing while she was trapped in fire, jolting her with their deaths.

So she walked, because there was nothing better to do, and thought about absolutely nothing. It was a luxury she had not been able to afford for many years.


	4. Blade Silver

She could no longer feel the tips of her fingers or toes, and her magic was all but gone.

Tris had grown careless with her sudden, overwhelming grief. They all had. Worse, used to assassins' knives leaping from their hands with a flick of Daja's magic, she had not moved nearly fast enough when a pair of hands launched them in her direction.

If Tris were the sort to make jokes, she would find it blistering irony that, in her uncontrollable need to wreck vengeance on the ice-wielding mage who had trapped Daja and Briar, she had forgotten what Daja's death actually meant.

Tris swayed, feeling her hold on the inferno blazing around where Sandry and her great-nephew faced off - one depleted of magic, the other keen to take advantage of it. Her attempts to tighten her grip slipped off like glass. No! She couldn't let Sandry die too! Not the last of the three, who she had cherished as family for nearly a quarter of a century! But the more she fought, the more her vision blurred until she could see nothing but the firestorm of red.

Why was she so cold? She could control her body temperature just as well as Daja...

The earth was rumbling beneath her, bound magma threatening to pour out.

Why... was she...

Tectonic plates shifted beneath the earth...

The wind was singing...

...so cold?

Her grip slackened, and her body collapsed.

The firestorm exploded.


	5. Firestorm

The throne room was burning.

At first, Daja could not believe that Sandry's great-nephew would resort to this.

Then she remembered his ambition, his insatiable need, and she did not find it surprising that he had struck at the first available opportunity. Of course he would attempt to overthrow Emelan's duchess, and take the post for himself, given the chance. And now Sandry was trapped inside by the fire, her magic exhausted from her exertions earlier that day, fighting for her life.

Tris and Briar, who had followed her at a run to the throne room, wasted no time. Tris marched straight in, winds rising threateningly around her. Daja made to follow, but Briar grabbed her elbow. He pointed at the corridor behind them, at the four mages who had melted out of the shadows, now that Tris was inside.

'I'll keep the fire away from Sandry,' Daja heard Tris send. 'You keep them from entering.'

Daja cursed; Tris was the one best at handling these, while her expertise lay in fire. But she could already see the silver of magic gathering around the war mages, objects shaking and ice crystals forming wherever the silver struck.

"You ready?" she asked Briar.

He grinned at her without mirth, listening to the fury of the vines growing on the floor beneath as they answered his call. It was all the reply she needed.

Ashes swept across the marble-tiled corridor. The fire blazed in the background as the metal around her began to glow, dim at first, and then with brilliant light, as she prepared to deal with the traitors.


	6. Reunion

The storm and its collection of hurricanes had passed, and Tris could nearly collapse with relief.

The first place she went was to check on her husband of many years and their three children, but the truth was, even before that, Tris had shouted across her connection with her siblings to ensure they were uninjured.

'I'm safe,' Sandry had whispered, standing alone in her throne room, which the hurricane-storm had left in ruins. She received similar replies from Daja and Briar - both of whom were rushing frantically to find their families.

Tris started running. She shoved through debris, shot past Valent (Sandry's great-nephew, who was muttering quietly into his earring and walking towards the throne room) and practically flew into her family's guest rooms in the Citadel.

Her children mobbed her. They were so terrified they did not even complain when she kissed Mekeil, emotions so strong even disgust at their parents' antics had been blown away. Twenty minutes later, Tris was still assuring her children that she was fine - Mekeil's arm wrapped around her - when a shock thundered through her connection.

Startled, Tris gasped and sat up, pushing away the images that flooded in with a gust of wind.

"Sandry," she whispered. Gently, but quickly, she untangled herself from her children and stood up. "I have to-"

Mekeil nodded.

Tris's legs were burning ( _why_ was the throne room on the other side of the citadel?) but she barely felt it as she dashed out of the room and nearly running into Daja, who was headed in the same direction.

"Valent," Tris said, out loud. "I saw him in the throne room before Sandry shut us out."

"He's attacking her," Daja gasped grimly. "I saw."

Briar had joined them by the time they arrived - Daja, and then Tris and Briar - at the throne room and prepared to defend their sister.


	7. Aftermath

As their minds withdrew from their first true connection in years, done to turn away the hurricane that had been ravaging Summersea, Briar and Sandry staggered.

They stayed upright by clutching each other, although logic suggested that they ought to have pulled each other down.

"It's been too long since we did a joint project, if it's this hard for us to work like that again," Sandry said. "Together."

Briar snorted. "You've been busy with your duchess business, and not even we directed hurricanes for laughs. I understand that. I just don't know why you're playing host to Valent-"

"He's my heir," Sandry said. "That's the problem with an agreement that says I can't have any children: I have to pick my great-nephew instead." She brushed off her long skirts with a shaking hand, weary and almost without magic after the great working, and looked around her ruined throne room.

"Duchess," Briar said.

She smiled. "Your family will be worried about you." She pushed him, gently.

He ran to find them, just like Tris was no doubt running to find her family, and Daja to find hers. Sandry stayed in her throne room and reminded herself that Emelan was safe, and it ought to be enough.

'I'm fine,' she told Tris, picking up a bit of jagged marble that had been torn off a statue of her late uncle, Duke Vedris of Emelan. And she was. Sandry had learned, even before taking up the mantle of duchess and signing the agreement with Uncle's sons that meant she would bear no children, that ruling could be a very lonely thing.


	8. Treachery

The storm that seers had been squabbling about for weeks roared overhead.

Valent, great-nephew of Duchess Sandrilene fa Toren and Heir Apparent to Emelan, touched his earring. He could sense his hired mage-assassins waiting for an instruction, but he did not speak; he waited out the storm.

The storm, those seers had proclaimed, would devastate Summersea and then travel hundreds of miles inland. Sandrilene and her foster-siblings had searched furiously, together, for a way to bleed out its power, if only by a little bit. Their powers were legendary, it was true, for what other mage could grow living flowers out of metal, as Daja Kisubo? Or turn a city into a rainforest in under a day, like Briar Miss could? Or command the tempest, which Trisana Chandler did with ease? But they were only human, and Valent knew even they would exhaust themselves.

Even working together, even reading each others' minds with their fabled closeness...

And when Sandrilene's guard was down...

"Get ready," Valent finally murmured, watching in his magicked mirror as a tornado spun slowly, but inevitably away from the area where the throne room was located.

Once they were exhausted, their legendary powers gone, Valent would act.


	9. Joining

"They'll sing about this deed for years to come," Daja joked, feeling sweat gather on her palms.

'We'll die in a blaze of glory,' Briar added, mentally.

She felt him look sideways at Sandry, who was pale but determined. They stood side by side in the throne room, within the grid of spells the four had made earlier to channel and send magic back out to sea.

Tris stood on the tallest peak of the tower, because it was through her that they would access the approaching storm; minds joining for the first time in years. Rain had been pelting overhead for hours, sharp winds flinging her loosened braids at her face. Daja, on the other hand, stood close to the earth, the root of all their workings, and the air around her was absolutely still.

Three weeks ago, seers at the Citadel had announced portents of a natural disaster in the future - including Tris, who'd confirmed it using her powers. Sandry had immediately started planning for it. Eventually, working together, the four had come up with something of a solution, one that would require the storm's power to be guided by Tris, until it reached the spell in the throne room; then they would dissipate it to as many natural sources as possible.

It was the riskiest, most foolish plan Daja and Tris had been able to think of, but all attempts to gently nudge it to a less populated, easily evacuated area had failed. In the end, Daja made room for it in the magma, Tris in the atmosphere, and Briar and Sandry worked on the spell, because only Sandry could lay out the pattern, and the others wouldn't hear of letting her do it with others.

'Especially with Valent slipping around,' Briar sent to Daja privately, both of them painfully aware that with the Mage Council of Winding Circle's strength lent to them, and all the Citadel mages likewise contributing, no one was there to watch Sandry's treacherous great-nephew. (They were only four mages, after all, no matter how great; they couldn't do it alone.)

'It's coming,' Tris sent across their bond.

Laying her hands flat on the ground, feeling magma and ores beginning to shine with her magic, Daja let herself fall into the pattern that would decide Summersea's fate.


	10. Storm-Catchers

The throne room was so quiet a thief's soft breathing would be detected. It had been swarming with Winding Circle's mages and their students, earlier that day, as they contributed to one of the most powerful workings in living memory. But now, the body of work was finished, and the bleat-brained had been cleared away so that they could adjust everything..

Briar could feel the pool of magic anchored in the crystals four floors beneath, in the dungeon. Daja had, earlier, shifted magma and rock in order to make room for a flood of power. It wasn't his magic, and he couldn't touch it; Sandry, however, could do so, and had been weaving together the various spells for the past few days.

Now there was only fine-tuning, and after the power passed through Sandry's hands, Briar could feel it.

'Three minutes,' Tris sent, and through her eyes, Briar could see the storm they planned to capture approaching, green and blue with the natural magic of the Pebbled Sea. Wind and rain whipped against Tris, heralding its arrival; the roar of the elements felt like a slap in the face after the unnatural quiet of the throne room. He saw the thunderheads rolling and cackling, saw the funnels of hurricanes forming bridges between the sea in the harbor and stormy sky.

They were planning to bend a storm's path.

'Briar.' Sandry's voice felt like the softest wool as she beckoned for him to help sort out a final knot.

'We wouldn't want to let the storm feed on itself,' Briar agreed absently; Daja's magma-moat would barely be enough of a channel to let the storm's power float out, as it was.

Daja, who had been the only one conscious during the fire in their twenty-seventh year that had left Briar with a permanent limp, shifted out of the crushing pressure of metals, in order to send a slow, steady agreement. It was that steadiness that meant she was to be their root, but Daja's slow replies could be misleading. She could be as fast as quicksilver, and it was for that very reason that Daja would be the one to handle the largest load of power.

There was a tug, a shift, and Briar felt the last of the pattern-magic smooth out, and blaze with sudden light as Sandry fed it the magic tied to the magma. They were ready for the storm to arrive.


End file.
